A Story by Solitude

This is a story about a really screwed up boy. I wrote it on a typewriter which is the only way to write a story. It makes me feel more . . . intelligent . . . thus provoking better thoughts from me.


Behind the circus booth, Jenson reclined in his chair and debated with himself on whether or not he should blow up the school.  There was no reason why he shouldn't, as he had endured several years in that hellhole of a place, and he knew that most of the students that were going there wouldn't object to the annihilation of the building.  Then again, they would definitely object if they knew that he was planning the explosion while they were in the building.  Jenson knew that the only way to get away with successfully destroying the building would be to set up the bomb early in the morning, and to have it go off during the school hours so it wouldn’t be found and detonated.  He could set it off in the early hours of the morning, but Jenson didn’t only want the school building up in flames; he wanted to get rid of all the teachers too.  The horrible, horrible teachers who had been giving him bullshit ever since he had been enrolled in the private Catholic school.  The teachers who had neglected him when he needed them most in life.  The very teachers who had laughed at him when he dropped his books in the hallway, and who had cheered when they got word that he was to be expelled.  Jenson sneered at the thought of them, and it became much easier to fathom the explosion of that God-awful school.  As for the students, well, most of them were delinquent bullies, though those that weren’t were still pretty horrid.  The drug dealers, the preppies, there was always some social label set upon each and every person there. Jenson smiled.  This was becoming more and more fun to think about.  He leaned back even further in his chair, and could almost smell the burning flesh of all the mother-f. . . .

“Excuse me, sir,” an elderly old man interrupted Jenson’s thoughts.  “Can you help me with this map?”

Jenson sighed, and slowly stretched his neck and back.  He leaned forward toward the man, but the small smile remained on his face all the while.

© 2010 Solitude

Author's Note

Constructive criticism is appreciated

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I really liked it!!!!! :)

Posted 10 Years Ago

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Added on July 8, 2010
Last Updated on October 3, 2010



Lonerland, VA

I love to write about everything; my sword, my life, my friends, my problems, pretty much anything that first comes to mind. I'd love to say that I was born with a pen and a book in my hand, though t.. more..